


(when im with you) baby the skies will be blue

by Anonymous



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Rough Sex, erotic asphyxiation, this scene was prenegotiated but i didnt write that part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Movement in the dark resolves itself into the shape of a man.  A very large man.  Somehow Waylon can see with perfect clarity his eyes, magnetically blue, cold and sharp like the sky on a sunny winter’s day.“Don’t run,” the man says.  Waylon goes cold with terror.He runs.
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park
Comments: 4
Kudos: 156
Collections: Anonymous





	(when im with you) baby the skies will be blue

**Author's Note:**

> for the friend that got me into this fandom, you know who you are
> 
> title is from so happy together, specifically the slothrust cover

Waylon stands from his desk with a stretch, groaning as his sore back protests with a series of quiet pops. He really should start setting a timer or something to remind himself to stand up every once in a while, it’s been- he looks at the clock on the bottom of his screen which helpfully tells him it’s past 10PM- christ, it’s been three hours since he last looked up from his screen. He hadn’t even noticed the sun going down. Or how thirsty he’s gotten. 

Wandering from his office and into the kitchen, Waylon doesn’t bother to turn on any lights, letting the warm glow of the street lamps outside guide his way. He takes a clean glass from the cupboard and fills it from the tap, leaning against the counter to drink while he watches the moths throw themselves against the light closest to the kitchen window. No one passes on the street this late in a town this small. The quiet is peaceful. Meditative, almost.

A sound breaks the silence and Waylon goes still, trying to pinpoint it. It was barely discernible, but now the air in the room feels different, shifted in the way air moves when a door opens or closes. Carefully, Waylon places his glass on the counter to avoid any sound and creeps back into the living room, silent on bare feet. He pauses there, listening hard.

The sound of footsteps, like someone in boots trying to be as quiet as possible. Movement in the dark resolves itself into the shape of a man. A very large man. Somehow Waylon can see with perfect clarity his eyes, magnetically blue, cold and sharp like the sky on a sunny winter’s day.

“Don’t run,” the man says. Waylon goes cold with terror.

He runs.

The man is between Waylon and the front door so Waylon has no choice but to flee up the stairs. He makes it up them without tripping, the man thundering up behind him in chase. He no longer has to be quiet and even the noise of him is big, each step up the stairs as loud as a gunshot to his prey. Gasping, Waylon makes for the bathroom with the intent of locking the door behind him and climbing out the window, but the man is fast for his size and catches him right before he makes it to the door.

“You little minx,” he hisses as he catches Waylon around the waist and pulls him back. “Playing hard to get, are you?”

“No!” Waylon tries to scream, but it comes out only as a gasp. He struggles to pull free but the man picks Waylon up and throws him over his shoulder effortlessly. Waylon claws ineffectually at the man’s back, unable to pierce the man’s shirt with his blunt nails, and when he tries to kick his ankles are caught in one massive hand and immobilized.

The man smacks him on the ass with a chuckle, causing Waylon to go still in shock. “Hush now, darling. No need to fight it, I’ll give you what you need.”

Before he can react, Waylon is being dumped like a sack of potatoes on his own bed, the man following after him to straddle his legs. He stares up at the other man, wide-eyed and trembling, as he runs an appreciative eye over Waylon’s body. Waylon’s in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt but the way the man looks at him he might as well be wearing lingerie. 

“You’re hard, darling,” the man murmurs appreciatively, reaching out to skim the back of his knuckles across Waylon’s growing erection. Because he is. He is hard.

“Please don’t,” Waylon whispers in reply. The man ignores him, instead taking hold of him through his pants and boxers. Waylon tries to twist away but the man only places his other hand on Waylon’s chest and pushes him down into the bed roughly. All Waylon can do is clutch at the man’s wrists as he’s teased to full hardness, squirming under the man’s hold, gasping and whining. His shirt rides up under the man’s grasp, revealing the vulnerable white of his belly.

The man bares his teeth as Waylon’s hips buck under him, whether to try to throw him off to get more contact he isn’t sure. “So  _ eager _ ,” he snarls, yanking Waylon free of his pants to take him fully in hand. He’s merciless with his ministrations, skating his thumb over the head of Waylon’s dick just the way he likes it, wringing a sudden and brutal orgasm that hits Waylon before he can even process it happening. He spills all over the man’s hand and his own stomach, sobbing as he’s stroked through it.

Waylon goes limp in the aftermath, dizzy with the force of his climax under such cruel hands. He blinks tears from his eyes to see the man smiling down on him, somehow both benevolent and vicious at the same time.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he says, smiling with too much teeth. It’s a predator’s smile. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll put it to good use.”

With that, the man undoes his own pants, pushing them down just enough for his dick to spring free. It’s big, just like the man himself, and Waylon lets out a high whine of fear at the sight of it. The man gives himself a few firm strokes with the hand still wet with Waylon’s cum, grinning meanly all the while.

Waylon feels powerless under that stare. His body feels useless after his orgasm, like all his strings have been cut, and the man is so much bigger than him. No way could he fight him off if he even tried.

“Please don’t,” he whispers again. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye and streaks down his temple.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of you,” the man promises with menace before scooping up the cum left on Waylon’s belly and wrestling him onto his stomach. Waylon goes without much of a struggle, all the fight wrung out of him with his recent orgasm.

Once he’s flipped over, the man pulls Waylon’s pants down his thighs but doesn’t bother to get them all the way off. He smooths his dry hand over the mark on Waylon’s ass, still red from when he was smacked earlier, as though measuring the heat of it with his touch. After a moment the hand is gone, only to come back with force on the opposite cheek. Waylon smothers his wail into the bedspread, shaking.

“We have to make sure you match, my dear.” The man pets gently over the searing mark, humming in appreciation. “That’s better isn’t it?”

“Please,” Waylon cries in answer.

“Oh? Begging already? What a thirsty girl you are.” The man is spreading Waylon’s cheeks now, tracing a fingertip wet with his cum over Waylon’s hole. “Look at that, you’re winking at me.”

“No!” Waylon denies, shuddering. His hands claw the blankets under him.

The man pushes his finger inside, stealing all of Waylon’s breath. He wants to scream but all that comes out is another high whine. The man thrusts the finger in and out of Waylon a few times, barely waiting for him to adjust before adding a second. Even his fingers are huge. Waylon moans helplessly.

“You’re so wet for me already, you little whore,” the man hisses, fingers finding Waylon’s prostate and teasing it viciously. Waylon bucks, but that only makes them spear him deeper. “Were you playing with yourself down here? Getting yourself nice and ready for me? You knew I was coming for you, didn’t you, my dear? Knew I was watching you.”

“No, please, please,” Waylon begs, muffled by the bedclothes. He writhes as the man adds a third finger, plunging them in and out of Waylon’s hole, unerringly finding his prostate with every thrust. To his shame, Waylon is hard again, leaking.

After minutes of this, the man finally pulls his fingers free. Waylon sobs in relief and, terribly, in anticipation. The bed shifts and before Waylon has time to understand what’s happening he’s being put on his knees. Pillows are grabbed from the head of the bed to keep his hips up. Waylon reaches back ineffectually to try to push the man away, only to have his wrists seized in one big hand and pinned to the small of his back. Waylon has no time to breathe, to beg, before something huge and hot is pressing against his hole.

The breach is slow, inexorable. The man is massive, taking up all the space in Waylon’s body, coring him out in one slow, methodical plunge. It feels like aeons before the man comes to a stop, hips against Waylon’s ass, as though to give him a moment to adjust.

“Please,” Waylon begs. For the man to stop or to continue, he’s lost the ability to know.

The body above him moves, using the grip on his arms to pin him in place like a bug on display. “Slut,” the man snarls, before he pulls back only to snap his hips forward immediately afterwards.

Waylon screams, or tries to, but as soon as he starts there’s a hand on the back of his head smashing his face into the covers and muffling his voice. The man holds him like that and just  _ takes _ . Waylon can barely breathe as he’s fucked with bruising force. He wants to writhe but he can’t move at all under those vicious hands.

Except for the arching of his back as he presses back, opening himself up for the onslaught. Every stroke of the man’s cock inside him lights him up, sends stars shooting across his darkening vision. Then the man lets go of Waylon’s head and Waylon is able to get the first full gasp of air in what feels like a lifetime. As fresh oxygen enters his lungs, Waylon comes apart, senses so overloaded that he cums without being touched, gasping raggedly, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He cums. And cums, and cums. The angle of things has changed just slightly and his prostate is still being, for lack of a better word, pummeled by the man inside of him.

“Eddieee!” Waylon wails, sobbing. “Eddie, please, Eddie, it’s so much.”

“Shut up,” Eddie growls, pressing Waylon’s face back into the bed to quiet his begging. Eddie’s hips keep snapping away with bruising force, making Waylon sob from the overstimulation. But with a final, vicious thrust, Eddie pushes as deep into Waylon’s body as he possibly can and cums himself with a groan from deep in his chest. Waylon groans with him, grateful for the reprieve. He imagines he can feel it as Eddie’s cum hits his insides and he shivers from the spike of exhausted arousal the thought gives him.

Slowly, Eddie releases Waylon’s arms and they flop to Waylon’s sides uselessly. He feels completely limp, untethered, exhausted. Eddie rolls them on their sides, keeping them spooned together so he remains inside Waylon still. Blearily, Waylon realizes they’re both still technically fully dressed. It’s kind of uncomfortable.

“Are you okay, darling?” Eddie asks, all solicitous husbandly concern in the aftermath of their scene.

“Mmmmyeah,” is all Waylon can manage, sinking bonelessly into Eddie’s arms.

Eddie sits up on one elbow to look down at Waylon without pulling out of him, even though his dick has gone soft by now. He picks up one of Waylon’s hands and kisses the red marks his hands left there. “This will bruise in the morning,” he says with some satisfaction.

“Mmyeah,” says Waylon again, distant but also satisfied by the idea. He’ll have to wear long sleeves when he goes out, but he likes to press the bruises when he’s alone and remember why they’re there. Or better yet, press the bruises when Eddie is there to see him do it just so he can watch the bigger man’s eyes go dark with lust.

Leaning down, Eddie kisses Waylon’s forehead before lying back down and pulling Waylon even closer. “I should clean you up so we can go to bed,” he says.

“Later,” Waylon replies. He feels so good right now, floating, weightless in Eddie’s arms.

“Of course, darling.” Eddie kisses the back of his neck, but Waylon is already asleep.


End file.
